


Naked

by battle_cat



Series: Together [22]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Car Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Furiosa is the most eaten out character in fandom history, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Vaginal Sex, and some camping, inappropriate vehicular activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 01:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10911387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battle_cat/pseuds/battle_cat
Summary: Max's car has appeared on the edge of Citadel territory, but something is not quite right. Furiosa rides out to investigate.





	Naked

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [YoukaiYume's smutty art](http://youkaiyume.tumblr.com/post/159646650533/warning-nsfw-this-was-a-smut-prompt-for).

His car crests a ridge on the edge of Citadel territory early in the morning. A pup comes running from the lookout post to give her the message, but when she makes her way to the spyglass, there’s no approaching trail of dust. The car that even at this distance is undoubtedly Max’s car has just stopped, lingering near a low scrub of rocks.

(It’s his car but it isn’t _his_ car. The Interceptor is still up on blocks in the Citadel’s garage, a few crucial parts shy of being ready for a test run. The salvaged vehicle he’s driving now is serviceable enough, but she’s sure he’d rather be behind the wheel of his V8. Hunting down the last parts they couldn’t make or trade for at the Citadel was one of the things that had sent him out into the wastes this time, with a directive to collect news along the way and a _keep safe_ that had hung unspoken in the air, both of them knowing better than to promise or expect.)

The car doesn’t move. He knows the landscape around the Citadel well enough to realize he must be within their territory, could signal for help if he were hurt or out of guzz, but no one emerges from the car and she can’t see any movement inside.

She watches through the spyglass as one scenario after another runs through her head. He’s badly hurt, passed out and bleeding. He’s got an unwanted passenger and isn’t willing to drive them closer to the Citadel. He isn’t in the car at all.

She isn’t sure how long she stands there, her whole consciousness focused on the narrow slice of desert at the other end of the spyglass. But after some time the driver’s side door opens.

Max steps out of the car. She can’t make out much detail from this distance but he’s not moving as if he’s been hurt. He reaches into the back seat of the car and pulls out a long rolled-up object.

“What’s he doing out there?”

She jumps. She’d been so focused that she hadn’t heard someone else approach, but beside her Toast is peering out across the sands through a pair of binoculars.

Furiosa looks back through the spyglass. She watches Max drive a couple of poles into the hard-packed sand and stretch a ragged shade cover between them and the roof of the car.

“He’s…camping.”

 

She circles back to the spyglass a few times during her daily tasks to check on Max. Twice he’s sitting under the shade cover, unmoving. Once he’s organizing and re-organizing the contents of his pack. Once he’s filling his canteen, holding it under the meager trickle that signals an almost-empty water tank.

He doesn’t appear hurt or sick, but she can’t shake the feeling that something is off. She squashes down the urge to drop everything and ride out to him right now. She has resolved to let him come and go on his own time, no matter how much the empty space in the bed beside her aches, afraid that anything that feels too much like dependence will make him spook and vanish permanently.

She makes it all the way to sunset before she gives in and loads up a bike.

 

She makes sure to approach at an angle where he will definitely see the dust kicked up by her bike. He still has a hand on his sidearm when she rolls up, his shoulders hunched and his back against the car.

“Max?” A little shiver runs through him; a jerk of his head as if to clear it. His gaze keeps flicking to her and then skittering away. She’s seen him this twitchy before, but not in a long time.

She moves slowly, unstrapping the heavy jerry can from the small trailer on the back of the bike. “I brought water. You’re near empty, right?”

His shoulders make some noncommittal motion. She hauls the water over to the car and empties it carefully into his reserve tank. Judging from the sound of the water splashing against dry metal he had hardly anything left.

She’s screwing the cap back on the water tank and then his hand is on her arm, on her shoulder, and they’re suddenly so close to each other, the empty jerry can dropped in the sand as his forehead presses against hers and his fingers dig into her back. Her flesh hand cups his jaw, days of stubble under her palm; her fingers twine into his hair as she lets him pull her closer, wrap his arms around her and bury his face against her neck.

“Hey. It’s okay,” she whispers, even though she has no idea what happened to send him back to her so shaky and raw like this. She keeps her metal hand wrapped tight around his back and her flesh one stroking through his grimy hair while he draws shuddery breaths.

When he finally pulls back she can look at him properly. His lips are chapped, the gray shadow of chronic exhaustion lingering under his eyes. He hasn’t been gone long enough for his cheeks to hollow out, but he has the strung-out look of running on fumes and adrenaline too long.

“You look like shit.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up. 

“What do you need?”

She has food, guzz, more water and medical supplies in the trailer attached to the bike, but in answer he presses his lips to hers and…well, she’s not about to argue with his priorities. She kisses him, and there’s something exhilarating about letting her focus narrow down to the taste of his mouth and rhythm of his breathing against the circle of her arms, knowing they’re in well-protected territory— _her_ territory, hard-won and constantly defended—and she has the time and space and relative safety to give him this.

If his current ride can be said to have one advantage over the Interceptor, it’s that it has a back seat. They fumble their way into the car between heated kisses, and then she’s in his lap, unstrapping her prosthetic by feel while he steals the breath from her lungs. It’s sweltering in the car, and it smells _very much_ like he’s been living in it unwashed for days, and there is really no reason why that should be as arousing as it is but it’s revving her up with absurd speed. The last scrap of attention she has for anything other than his mouth and hands goes to making sure her prosthetic and leather brace end up on the front passenger seat where she’ll be able to find them later.

Anywhere outside her room or the bath she wouldn’t usually remove any more clothes than she needed to fuck, but his hands are running under her shirt and she suddenly wants to be closer to him, so she tugs it off, leans into where he’s kissing her chest, her breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth. She shoves at his jacket, pushing it down off his shoulders until he shrugs out of it. He shivers when she slides her hand under his shirt, but doesn’t object when she peels it off him.

It’s somewhat of a blur how they get out of the rest of their clothes, but the thrill of being completely naked, in his car, in the desert, means she’s plenty wet enough to slide down on his hard cock when she climbs back into his lap. They’re both still for a moment, catching their breath at the feeling of being lodged together suddenly, and then she rolls her hips and his nails dig hard into her back.

She urges him to lean forward enough to hook one leg and then the other around his back. Wrapped around him like this she has almost no leverage, but it doesn’t matter; the shallow grind of her hips and the rhythmic squeeze of her muscles around him is enough to keep them both gasping. They’re both slick with sweat; she can feel it where they’re sliding against each other; on his forehead where it’s pressed against hers and on the back of his neck where her hand rests. He is dead silent until the very end, when a long groan shudders out of him.

She unhooks her legs gingerly from around his back, but they stay wrapped around each other, breathing in tandem. His cock is growing soft inside her, and she can feel come dripping out of her onto his thighs, and sweat everywhere they’re pressed together, and desert grit from his unwashed skin, and it should all be kind of gross, but she finds herself not at all inclined to move.

After a moment he nudges her to slide off him, stretching out his bad knee with a crack and a grimace. He’s only meeting her gaze in brief glances, but the line of his shoulders has relaxed some. The sun has set, the sky turning from red-gold to purple around them, but there’s enough light remaining to see that he’s flushed and sweaty and still distractingly naked. She sits sideways on the seat next to him, letting her legs fall open.

“You’re a mess,” he mumbles, and she realizes they’re the first words he’s spoken since she rolled up on the bike. There’s a sheepish smile on his face.

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

He makes a wry little hum before ducking down to lick at the inside of her thigh. She leans back against the door, arching back on her elbows to give him a better angle. He licks her clean, and then he licks her until she’s shaking, until she bucks and squirms against his mouth and gives up on being quiet. By the time he’s done with that he’s hard all over again and she urges him up to fuck her a second time, her legs splayed open and her hand braced on the front seat. They eventually slide down until she’s lying flat on the seat while he moves inside her in long, slow strokes that hit something deep inside her. She doesn’t think she can come again, but he strokes a wet thumb in slow circles over her overstimulated clit until she’s whimpering and twitching one more time.

She thinks maybe she dozes a little after, the sweaty weight of his head resting on her shoulder. She wakes up to full dark and a leg full of pins and needles from being trapped under Max’s hip.

She nudges him up and climbs out of the car, tired and sticky, and—she realizes suddenly—incredibly hungry.

The moon has risen, turning the desert silver-white around them. She stumbles off behind a pile of rocks to piss, spares a little water from her canteen to wipe herself as clean as she can for now. When she comes back, Max is sitting on the edge of the back seat strapping on his brace, most of his clothes back on.

She hadn’t really paid attention to where any of her clothing had landed, and it’s dark inside the car, and the night is warm. She extracts the woven Vuvalini blanket from her supply bag and wraps it around her like a sarong. Even in her own territory she’s not quite relaxed enough to go without her prosthetic for long, not when it’s just the two of them. The leather girdle and belts do double duty holding up her makeshift wrap, so it’s not a bad solution until she feels like hunting around for her clothes.

She makes sure to drink something, and then she fills Max’s canteen and makes sure he drinks as well while she pours the rest of the water she brought into his reserve tank.

“Food,” she says next, extracting the two tins of Citadel stew she’d packed into her supply bags. It’s one of the hearty plant-based recipes they can regularly make in decent quantities now, thick with beans and potatoes and greens, and little salty bits of dried lizard meat, a filling meal when warmed over a kerosene flame and sopped up with a bit of flatbread.

Max wolfs down his portion in no time at all, and she ends up offering him the second half of hers.

“I can get more,” she says when he shoots her a guilty look, and that’s all it takes for his scav instincts to win out.

“You, mm, riding back tonight?” he asks when he’s wiped every inch of her soup tin clean.

“I can.” It’s night, but the moon is nearly full, and the road familiar. “But…I don’t have to.” She suddenly finds herself very interested in tracing the geometric pattern on the blanket with her finger. “I could stay here with you tonight.”

He hums, a neutral enough sound that she has to look up for his reaction. There’s a flicker of…something…on his face, then he nods. “That’d be nice.”

They end up sitting against the car, his arms around her and her back against his chest. Every once in a while his hand will sneak under her blanket-wrap to stroke across her belly or along her leg, not really teasing or trying to rev her up again, just soft and gentle.

It’s nice, just the two of them together, quiet and still in a way the Citadel never feels, even in the dead of night. He’s spent tens of nights in her bed now, but she’s never spent the night in his world, just a car and a camp and the wasteland.

She can’t say she doesn’t understand the appeal of just getting in a fast car and _going._ On a calm night like this, with the silver desert spread out around them, it’s almost possible to forget what a precarious existence that is.

“What happened?” she asks after a long stretch of silence. If he doesn’t want to tell her, he won’t, but if there is something she can do, she wants to know.

“Hm,” he answers, and then is silent for long enough she starts to think that’s all she’ll get from him.

“Ran into…some people who needed help. Didn’t go well.” She can feel the long shaky breath he takes rise and fall against her body. “Wanted to come back days ago, but…” He makes a vague hand motion.

She twists her body enough to wrap her arms around him, because she knows exactly how much that three-sentence explanation cost him. After a moment she feels his cheek come to rest against the top of her head.

Another long stretch of silence spools out, until she feels his body start to go slack and then jerk awake again.

“You can sleep,” she says, sitting up to look at him. “I’ll stay up if you want.” She doesn’t think they really need a watch, but she has no idea when he’s last slept through a whole night. It wouldn’t surprise her if the last time was in her bed.

He makes the kind of grunt that she recognizes as disagreement. She stands up and gets her rifle from the bike, leaning it against the car in arm’s reach when she sits back down.

“Go to sleep, Max.”

 

He makes it almost four hours, hunched up with his back pressed against her thigh, before he jolts awake with a gasp and a flail she barely rolls away from in time.

When his breathing returns to almost normal he mutters, “You sleep.”

She can’t say she’s not tired, and it’s gotten colder outside. “Let’s get in the car.”

There’s not enough room for both of them to lie down on the back seat, but Max is more likely to fall asleep sitting up anyway. She unstraps her arm again, pulls the blanket around herself and curls up with her head resting on his thigh. He has the rifle and three other weapons within arm’s reach, and a warm hand on her shoulder as she closes her eyes.

 

She wakes up lying face down, her cheek stuck to the seat. It’s light out, but early still. Through the open car door she can see Max checking a makeshift trap he’s tucked into the hollow between two rocks, the exact kind of place a lizard would go skittering.

The trap seems to be devoid of lizards, but he tips out a fat black beetle and pops it into his mouth.

He notices she’s awake and comes over to sit against the back wheel. He looks…not rested, but more present somehow.

“Hey,” she rasps, her mouth dry.

He traces a finger down her cheek, across her lips, and then he kisses her softly.

“You taste like beetle,” she mumbles against his mouth. He huffs out a dry breath of laughter, takes a swallow from his canteen and then passes it to her. When she reaches out to pass it back to him he leans in and kisses her again. His hand strokes over her hair, down the back of her neck, and then she feels him slide the blanket aside, morning air hitting her bare skin. She smiles between kisses.

“Stay there,” he says.

He gets up, disappearing out of her field of vision. After a moment she hears the door on the other side of the car open, a clanking of buckles and a soft rustle of cloth. When he climbs in to lie down mostly on top of her he’s naked again.

She hums her approval as he starts kissing her neck, her shoulders, one foot braced against the floor to keep some of his weight off her. A hand snakes down to slide under her hips, between her legs to find her clit. He strokes her slowly, his hips grinding lazily against her ass, as if they have all the time in the world.

By the time he makes her come every breath is a weak little moan and his dick is hard against her ass. “You can fuck me,” she breathes when she’s capable of speaking. “Just…gently.”

He places a soft kiss on the back of her neck. There’s some squirming to arrange themselves properly and then he’s pushing into her ever so slowly. She’s sore from last night and there’s a dull ache underneath the pleasure of each languid thrust, enough to make her gasp but not nearly enough to want him to stop.

Her hand is braced on the doorframe, and his lands on top of it while he fucks her so slowly and sucks bruising kisses into her neck. She gets so lost in the rhythm that it’s almost a surprise when he comes, a sudden grunt and a scrape of teeth against her shoulder.

The sun is fully up now, the delicious cool of early morning burning away. She cannot linger any longer. She doesn't think she'll fool anyone at this morning's council meeting about her activities last night, but she still has responsibilities.

She wipes herself clean once again, stretches out muscles sore from fucking and sleeping in an unfamiliar position in the car. She finds her clothes folded in a neat pile on the passenger seat of the car, her prosthetic resting on top.

It’s only when she’s dressed that she realizes Max has packed up his simple camp. His eyes are on the ochre buttes of the Citadel rising from the plain just a short drive away.

“You don’t have to,” she says. His tank is full of water, and if he said he was going right now she’d load the rations and extra guzz into his car before he could refuse them, and not a word about the hollow ache in her chest at the thought of him driving away would pass her lips.

“I know.” His gaze flicks briefly to her, then away. She catches the barest ghost of a fleeting smile on his lips.

“Liked fucking you in my car,” he mumbles.

“I liked it too.”

“More room in your bed, though.”

She smiles, and he smiles back, and it’s more than a shadow this time.

She swings onto her bike and he gets into the car and they kick up a trail of red dust toward the towers of the Citadel.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr!](http://fuckyeahisawthat.tumblr.com)


End file.
